


I'd Like a Blue Box, Please

by sunflowerbright



Series: Christmas Prompts 2011 [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She might've kissed him on the beach, but that doesn't mean things are getting easier from there. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Like a Blue Box, Please

**Author's Note:**

> for kilodalton who wanted 'TenII/Rose'

Rose leaves when they get back to London, a sudden flurry of trampling up the stairs and trying to close the door. He stops her, hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

“Rose…” he says and sounds unfathomably lost. She won’t look at him.

“Not right now,” she mumbles, flashing a quick look up at him. “Sorry,”

She doesn’t sound like she means it.

Jackie shows him to a guest room, and he is sneakily fooled by her silence and kind eyes, and starts that gob of his without thinking.

“Don’t understand why it’s such a big deal,” he mumbles, eyes flittering back to Rose’s door. “Not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

_“What?_ ” Jackie shrieks and he’s sure he can hear something hard falling to the floor from inside Rose’s bedroom. Great.

oOo

“I’m not sure I can do this,” She says the next morning, sitting at the edge of his bed. Lovely sight to wake up to, even if he is very aware of the fact that he, as a newly-made human, has been sleeping for all of ten hours and probably look a mess. Never had to worry about bed-hair before now.

Well, bed-hair and certain other things.

“I know… I know at the beach, I…” Rose trails off, and he quirks an eyebrow.

“Seemed very willing?” he finishes for her, regretting the choice of words as soon as he sees her eyes flash dangerously.

“Is that what this is about? What was it, some kind of game? Is that why he wouldn’t say it, because he wanted rid of me?” Her voice breaks at the last part and he feels his heart _(one heart now, just one)_ clench in pain for her.

“That’s never what it was,” he says, putting as much conviction into his voice as he possibly can. Rose looks down at him, and there are tears in her eyes.

“You can’t know that,”

Oh. So that’s what this is about.

“Yes, I can. I _am him_ , Rose,” he locks her gaze with his, intent on convincing her of this. “Same memories, same feelings, same man. Only human.”

She doesn’t believe him. If she had believed him, she wouldn’t have left so abruptly, walking downstairs to be with her family instead of him.

Because she has a family now that isn’t just a mother, but a father and a brother as well. She doesn’t live in an Estate anymore, she lives in a bloody mansion, in a world where he doesn’t even have a proper identity, and he thinks it’s maybe stretching the metaphor a little too much, the fact that even with one heart and one life, she’s still so far above him that he can’t even see her.

There was once a very clever man, who incidentally wasn’t him, who said that putting people on a pedestal was like putting them in a kind of prison. He wonders if that’s how Rose feels right now, and if maybe that’s why she steers shy of him right now. Only, he’d thought this is what she’d wanted _(of course he’d thought that, or he would have never left her here with himself)._

Hadn’t it been what she wanted? A life with him. It would have been amazing no matter what, but this way it’s as close to perfect as it comes.

He watches her eat her breakfast, trying to convince little Tony to do the same, practically forcing the cereal down her brother’s throat. She’s mothering and huffing and she looks utterly domestic, and it terrifies him just a little bit, only he isn’t sure if it does because he genuinely doesn’t want that or simply out of old habit.

He’d always been so good at running from what he really wanted. It’s time to stop that now, because this is a chance he never thought he’d get again _(no second chances)_ and there is no room for mess-ups. It’s Rose, after all, and he’s spent enough time pushing her away.

“I know you’re there,” her voice breaks him out of his musings, and he can’t help but smile: her back is still turned, but at least she doesn’t sound as upset as half an hour ago in his room.

He moves over to the table and gets acquainted with little Tony, which mainly consists of silly card-tricks and force-feeding him mashed banana instead of that old cereal that the poor child didn’t want anyway. He gets spat on, but that makes Rose laugh so he supposes it’s okay, especially when he makes Tony laugh afterwards with more card-tricks and her smile turns soft and pleasing. He could get used to this.

Of course, she doesn’t let him get used to this.

“I’ve got a flat,” she says, after Jackie has forced them to wash the dishes after dinner. “I don’t normally live here, it’s just been… anyway. Big enough for two, I reckon, it’s just…”

He can practically hear the conversation between Rose and Jackie that must have occurred earlier, and he is surprised to realize that it must have been Jackie that has suggested this, since Rose sounds very unwilling to do it.

“You don’t have to. I’m sure I can find a place of my own. Or, you know, stay here and be a slave for your mum.” He shudders at the mere thought, and she smiles again (he’s counting them and filing them away in his memories for future use, _just in case…_ )

Just in case of what?

_‘Is that why he wouldn’t say it, because he wanted rid of me?’_

He almost drops the plate he’s drying, and realizes with no little amount of shame that that pedestal he’s been placing her on all these years… Rose might not even realize she’s on it. He’s been clinging to these few, illusionary moments, because he’s afraid that they were all he had.

It’s what the Time Lord version did so well after all. Talks a lot. No second chances. Hurts Rose.

“I would _love_ to come and live with you,” he says, manic grin in place and suddenly very, _very_ determined.

oOo

She needs space, and he respects that. He’s not here to smother her or in some lame attempt to desperately make sure she doesn’t forget and move on _(okay, it might be a little bit the last part)_ , but he is nothing if not stubborn. Plus, part Noble now, which in short makes him an unstoppable force of nature.  

Really, Rose doesn’t stand a chance at all. Even if she does give him a separate bedroom and still refuses to look him directly in the eyes.

He gets a job at Torchwood despite his initial reservations about the place, but he remembers Martha working from the inside of UNIT (‘ _Not carrying a gun, if you noticed’_ ) and Jack rebuilding and fighting the fight. And it means he gets to spend nearly every minute of every day close to Rose, just like they used to back in the TARDIS. It’s no problem finding him a position there, considering his massive intellect (his brain even when human is, quite frankly, scary) and his general knowledge of all things alien. The first few weeks he spends mostly tinkering away on a new sonic screwdriver (carefully ignoring Rose suggestion that he make it glow pink this time) and before he knows it, almost two months has passed, and everything has become a scary routine of domesticity and working – and working with Torchwood has proved to be almost as hazardous to one’s health as traveling in the TARDIS used to be for them.

It isn’t what he focuses on though. No, what he focuses on is one Rose Tyler and a project he’s been entrusted by himself, and it takes up all his thoughts, the Rose Tyler-one more so than the other one, because really, Rose Marion Tyler is the real mystery here. The Face of Boe’s got nothing on her.

One day she’ll be all cheerful and smiles, sharing jokes – jokes from the past, _their_ past – and chips and there are several moments in which the temptation to reach out and kiss her has overwhelmed him to the point of pain. It’s harrowing, the fact that if he’d done this _before_ , before Canary Wharf and meta-crisis, she would have welcomed it, but now when he’s actually oh so very willing and when it all _fits_ , now he isn’t sure that it will please her at all. More than likely, it will only make her cry.

He never wants to make her cry. Yet it seems he has an impeccable talent for it. Walls aren’t that think, and he’s still Time Lord enough to be absolutely tuned to the flat’s other residents every mood.

 He hates that he knows so much about her, yet has no idea what to do.

“What is that?” she asks, on one of the Good Days when she smiles. It’s been, what, three months? (Time passing in a linear fashion is so hard to keep track of sometimes), and he feels like he has made all the progress in the world and yet none at all. She smiles though, and it makes his single heart skip a beat. Until he realizes what it is she’s asking.

“Uh, nothing,” he mumbles, desperately trying to hide the papers under his hands with an air of casualty, which he’s almost sure he fails spectacularly at. “It’s nothing, just a research project.”

“What, that you do in the spare time you could be helping me clean the flat, instead?” she asks, frown in place, but her tone teasing. “C’mon, let me look,” she leans forward and she smells delightful and it’s very distracting, because _now_ she’s gotten hold of some of the papers and while he isn’t completely sure that that means the end of the world, it is still a very probable outcome. Especially now that it is clear that she _understands_ the gist of it, despite some of his scribbles in Gallifreyan and this forms frankly awful handwriting. Her eyes are widening and her mouth hangs open just a bit.

“Are you… is this…”

“No, I can assure you it isn’t,” right, because this situation was going to become better if he started lying to her.

“Are you… are you trying to build a TARDIS?”

“No,” he mumbles, scratching at the back of his head. Oh, she wasn’t supposed to find out, not yet. “Well, yes. I mean, not trying. I _am_ building one. I, well, I gave myself a small piece of the TARDIS’ coral and I can… well, growing one is the technical term, it’s just that I need a few things that aren’t exactly available on Earth, so I’ve had to make do and well… well… well… Rose?” his tone became alarmed. “Rose, would you… erm, that is, would you please not cry? Whatever I did, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry…”

“No, doesn’t matter,” she interrupts, angrily wiping the tears away and throwing the papers away from her, almost as if they disgusted her. “It’s not… I mean, I should’ve guessed that you wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” He mutters and he can practically feeling his brain whirr away in there, can feel the wheels spinning and turning and clicking into place. Coming to the right solution, just as she says it out loud.

“Wouldn’t want me to come. I mean, after everything…” she trails off, and there’s  such hurt in her eyes and he thinks, for someone whose promised not to make her cry, he really does screw up all the time. “After everything that’s happened and… these last few months, I haven’t exactly been treating you well.”

“Of course you have,” he says, his voice almost stern. “You’ve been nothing but kind these last few months. It’s an… ah, unique situation and of course you’d take some time getting adjusted to it. In fact, you’re not obligated to feel adjusted to anything, at all.” He adds the last bit with badly-concealed fear in his voice.

“Yeah, but that’s not exactly how he planned it to go…”

He swallows hard. “You mean, how _I_ planned it to go,”

There’s a tense silence and it both cuts them deep.

“I’m him,” the Doctor says and then panics a little, because Rose looks like she might start to cry again.

“Are you really?” she asks.

“Yes,”

“Then why… I mean… wouldn’t he want…”

“ _Of course_ I want you to come with me!” he can’t help but shout a little, indignation at himself making him jump up from the table and stand face to face with her. “I didn’t tell you about it because… well, because I was scared. Silly, human feelings, just…”

“Great, it’s back to ‘stupid apes’ again. Might’ve known,” Rose muttered, turning her hurt into anger instead.

Well, he’s already walking over a mine field here. He might as well get it out in the open. If he’s honest, he has a better chance there. He hopes.

“I didn’t tell you because I was scared of… well…” he can barely get the words out. “I was scared that you’d only want to come because of… because of the adventure, you know? And that you… you wouldn’t want… because you don’t _now_ and I wouldn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything, just because we kissed on that beach, though you know, if you _want_ to do anything or something, that would be really nice, that is, only if you want, you shouldn’t do it just because I’m standing here rambling on like a proper idiot.”

Rose blinks, looking a little astonished. “So… you’re saying that you were afraid to tell me, because I would… what, prefer the TARDIS over you? Were you… jealous of your baby-TARDIS?”

When she puts it like that, it sounds even worse than in his head. Sheepishly, he nods.

She grins.

“Oh, that’s… that’s just…” another giggle escapes her lips and then another and then she have to press her lips together to keep from laughing. He glares.

“If my feelings are _that_ amusing to you,” he mumbles, turning around to gather his papers and lost dignity, when suddenly there’s a press of warm fingers on his chin, forcing him to turn his head back around.

She kisses him. He has a catalogue, in his head, of every time they’ve kissed, starting with him pulling the Vortex out of her and ending on that beach all those weeks ago.

Well, he’d thought it would end on that beach.

“I’ve been an idiot,” she mumbles against his lips, her breath tickling his face. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he insists, letting his fingers run through her hair. “Besides, I think I win the award for biggest idiot. We could’ve been doing this years ago,”

Rose smiles. “Hmm, remind me again why we just stopped?”

“I don’t know. Some silly reason like air I think,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss her again, only to have her pull away.

“No more keeping things from me,” she insists, eyes flickering back down to his research. “And… and I know that you’re… _I know_ who you are, it’s just…” she trails off, one of her hands sliding down from his shoulder to rest over his heart. His single, human heart.

“It’s alright,” he mutters, watching her intently. “It really is alright, Rose.”

For the first time in what feels like years, it actually is.


End file.
